Of Windows and Wine
by firewings86
Summary: Tamsin mulls over her bathtime actions with only her truck, some "borrowed" wine and the alley rats to keep her company. Valkubus one-shot.


"_You shouldn't be."_

"_Be what?"_

"_Be real. Be here."_

I took another drink of wine and stared straight ahead through my windshield, but not at anything in particular. A rat disappeared into a crack in the alley wall and I drank some more. The wine sloshed shallow down the side of the bottle. Almost gone. A drop of sweat slid down my face and lips and into my mouth. I could almost taste it under the alcohol.

A stick of deodorant sat on top of some loose change in one of the cup holders. Pointless now. My jeans were warm and soggy and they stuck to me in uncomfortable places. Kind of like _her_. God, I wished I could just get rid of her, get her out of me. She was in my skin and my hair and everything the water touched. Her soap suds were still melting in my floorboard.

She probably thought I was crazy. That was okay. I _was_ a little crazy, but hey, who's not, am I right? Was there a reason to try to stay sane in the kind of fucked-up society we lived in? Probably not. I looked back at the deodorant. In the cup holder next to it was the vial, that little amber vial that would ruin her life and save mine.

Save mine?

I didn't want to destroy something so perfect. I wasn't lying to her, you know. I didn't mean to say any of it, to be honest. It all just gurgled up out of nowhere. Fucking word vomit. It was just because I was drunk or upset or I don't even know what. The important thing was that I slipped up.

I needed her to trust me enough to get close, but I wasn't supposed to say anything like _that_. Anything so revealing, so… bonding. It's funny; I hadn't spent that much time with her, but I knew Bo. I don't suck at reading people. I knew she wasn't crazy when she said Kenzi wasn't really Kenzi. I could judge her clarity and her reactions. I knew that when I said all those things, at first she'd be weirded out, then a little nervous, and then she'd probably overthink it for a little while. She'd be all, "Why would she say that? What did she mean?" And then… she'd accept it. Just like that. Bo's pretty good at accepting people and all.

Then she'd realize that I meant it and start to trust me, I mean _really_ trust me. And knowing that was going to make what I had to do so, so much harder. Why did I have to go and do that to myself? To her? I had to hurt her, but I didn't want to _hurt_ her, too. Maybe I did at first, but that was before she, I don't know, grew on me a little.

I scrunched my face up at the thought and tilted the wine bottle up again. Nothing. I jiggled the last few drops into my mouth and tossed it into the passenger seat. My head ached.

The bath water still sloshed and dripped in my mind, just _guilt guilt guilt_ in every ripple. The truck was getting hot sitting in the sun. Goddamn air conditioner didn't work, either. I leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes. Everything spun and I clawed at my shirt. I remembered how her knees felt under my tits and dug my knuckles into my own flesh. I wanted it to hurt.

I was lucky I was sober enough to get out of the tub and leave. By the time I got back to the truck, I couldn't turn my brain off. Everywhere the sun touched me, I imagined it was her fingers spreading that warm tingling only a succubus can produce. I imagined things were different.

"_Tamsin, what are you doing?"_

Her skin was slick and oh, God, her body. I touched it. Laid my hand on her chest, said some things about the strength of her heart, slid my fingers down into the bubbles. Then her hands were under my shirt and my mouth was on hers and I was between her legs and inside of her while she sucked the breath out of inside of me and took and took and

There's a unique high in surrendering to a succubus. It's a little masochistic, maybe, to get such a thrill out of letting someone take so much out of you. Maybe it's the danger, the _knowing_ that you're walking a fine line between ecstasy and a crash. Disaster. Death, even, if you go under so deep you forget to come back up.

I didn't want to come back up. I'd felt her and I wanted to feel her again, in the bathtub and in the woods where we first kissed and everywhere else, over and over until neither one of us had anything left to take. I wanted to pull her hair and watch her eyes turn blue.

I wanted a chance. Just a chance.

I grabbed the vial and threw it down with all the force I could muster. It hit the floorboard hard, but it didn't break. There was just a loud glassy thud and then nothing. Quiet.

I hated the quiet. The wine bottle glinted in the passenger seat. I took it and slung it at the window. It smashed through the glass and broke against the brick wall outside. That was better.

"I hate you," I said.

And I meant that too.

I touched the charm on my necklace, rolled it over in my fingers and pulled my still-damp knees up to my chest.

_Tamsin, what are you doing?_


End file.
